The wood-pigeon’s call comes booming in

through every wall of the room I’m in

the bricks dissolve – there’s an open sky

that lets in all of its basal cry

There is no driveway, there is no street

instead stand pines so tall and sweet:

their resinous odour fills my nose

and golden sand lies beneath my toes

my skin even feels the warming sun

in my ears, cries of laughter, oh so fun.

Ten thousand pines stand all around

on dunes that rise up from the ground

and in high branches play squirrels, red

but now of feet have I none, only roots instead

and my arms extended up toward the rays

are fixed now, each of my fingers splayed

and branches and green needles have come

where once golden hairs from my arms were sprung.

Here, then, where I once stood by the forest transfixed

will I now stand forever, in-amongst, betwixt

the ocean’s  raging waves and the hinterland

will I be forever a Pine tree – how grand!


I stand way back far out of reach

of the waves that spill upon the beach

and curl and twist, retreat and fetch

pale foamy fingers writhe and wretch

and beckon empty leave the shore

before turning fast to fling afore

and snatch at ankles careless left

within reach of its coldest breath

each bitter twisted hiss ashore

lunges for feet that run before

the sucking speed to boil and spin

each attempt to drag the watcher in

its unrequited cold desire

leaves unquenched its raging fire

and violent angry crashes wild

vehement in fury towards the child

who turns to run upon the dunes

backed by a floating silver moon

stand and turn – look out to sea

where the sun is swallowed finally.